Garden Variety Royalty
by Kayka
Summary: When it comes to accepting gifts from his beloved, Jareth really ought to know better. When it comes to giving such gifts, Sarah really ought to expect tit for tat. Sareth. One-and-a-half-shot. May contain egregious misuse of a Goblin King and a flower crown. *Bonus mini chapter added because I watched three pigeons fight over cheeto. It was truly inspirational.
1. Talk of Rings

**Disclaimer:** If you'll just kindly stare into this crystal, I'll be running off that way with the copyright, thanks.

* * *

**Garden Variety Royalty**

* * *

"Jareth, I made you something."

In hindsight, those were the words that should have made him instantly suspicious of the woman's intentions.

It was a novelty, after all, Sarah _never_ graced him with tokens of her favor, for as she asserted, loudly and often, she bore him no intimate affection. None. Zilch. Nada. While no longer outright hostile toward him and his grand design, having packed away both her broom and her frying pan back to their respective cupboards and saving her nail gun for occasions where he had been particularly naughty, she had no qualms about making it absolutely clear that until he could prove to be more than the trickster, romantically inclined she was not.

But he had become complacent in their odd, antagonistic friendship, and that had been his downfall.

Or perhaps it had been the snakes charmed to flow out of her shower head.

Regardless of the impetus, Jareth found himself resigned to his current predicament.

He tugged a few emasculating petals from his hair, for all the good it did. The ruined flower crown refused to budge and immediately repaired itself to its previous pristine condition.

Three days.

Three days he had lived through this particular torture, with no way to rid himself of the garish ring perched awkwardly atop his noble head. It mashed his hair in awful directions, and no matter how he ripped and pulled, the thing only tangled further. He had half a mind to shave his prized hair away after the court vulture tried to use him to nest, but he most emphatically _did not_ want to risk having to bear the damnable wreath _on top_ of being bald. That would have been the final insult to his vanity.

Three days.

He had not seen _Her _in that span of time either.

_Roses_! Of all the flowers she could have possibly chosen. They had _thorns,_ for boggling goblin's sake! They pricked and made his skull itch. She couldn't have chosen red or blue, oh no, the _crown_ he bore alternated between light and dark pink.

_Friendship and sympathy; gratitude and appreciation, indeed._

But no spell, incantation, or pure fits of pique could nudge them from the royal noggin. Or change them in any way. At least time was on his side; his Sarah was but a novice, and her little spell could not hold _forever. _

By the third day, he got the flowers to glitter in the light. It was progress, at the very least. If he could only make them red or black, he might not feel quite so ridiculous. He only hoped that the course of her mischief would be run before it resulted in irrevocable damage to his signature mane.

Destruction of his kingdom, he could handle. Gross disregard for the boundaries of his generosity, he was a trouper. But to ruin his _hair_- he would not forgive, and he would not forget.

It was high time the wretch answered for her crimes.

But that was precisely the problem. Sarah made herself scarce, even to her fellow conspirators that must have surely helped her in her scheme.

On the first day, he vowed that he would not appear to her. He devised a way to use the debacle to his advantage. And _she_ would come to _him_.

On the night of the second day, he sent her a wicked dream that would undoubtedly call her to his side- in horror or lust he did not particularly care, he could accommodate either mood. Both. Still, she did not come. (Little did he know that, despite vociferous claims otherwise, Sarah had long harbored similar wicked dreams of her mind's own devising- waking hot and bothered was an accepted nuisance by this point. The riding crop, however, had been a delight she had not previously considered.)

This day, the third of her absence from the entirety of the Underground, he was starting to grow terribly impatient.

With a bit more fiddling Jareth managed to turn the traitorous flowers- they were from his own gardens, he was _certain_- to more attire appropriate, and menacing, hues of black and blue. The power of her mischief was beginning to wane.

Sarah should be appearing to him at any time, now.

Her grace period was almost up.

And he was content to wait.

* * *

It had not been the best idea.

It was a damned good idea.

Even a hilarious idea.

And the look of dawning terror on the Goblin King's face certainly _seemed_ worth it at the time.

Though, when he had not immediately followed her back Aboveground whilst raining down metaphorical fire, Sarah started to get antsy.

He was plotting something, and she was as good as stuck in a bog of excrement without ever having considered the canoe, much less the paddle.

It was a metaphorical bog at least. For the moment. The aforementioned bog could be an actual worry in her very near future.

The next day passed, though her paranoia did not. Her impending doom did not seem to register in the subconscious of her mind, which conjured up a delicious dream of the king's exotic brand of retaliation- complete with creative uses of anatomy and a riding crop. But then the dream ended right as she was getting to the good bits.

All things considered, that seemed horribly unfair.

On the third day, she almost gave in to temptation to contact her Underground friends and check up on the king. She restrained herself- she wasn't foolish enough to believe that the Goblin King would let bygones be bygones. But maybe just a teensy peek-

And _that_ was how Sarah found herself in the middle of an ominously deserted room she had never visited before.

Upon further inspection, it wasn't quite as deserted as she would have liked. Her fairy tale king sat brooding in a windowsill, wreathed in a dark, but otherwise recognizable crown.

"I like what you've done with my gift. It suits you. And the glitter. Perfect touch," Sarah started, conversationally.

The words were out of her mouth before her mind considered the fact that further riling her erstwhile adversary might not be the best course of action.

Such was the nature of their tenuous relationship, however, and Sarah was no shrinking violet.

"Actually, some violets would have made a nice addition. I wish I'd thought of it."

Going by his sour face, the king was not amused.

And he had yet to speak.

For someone that enjoyed expressing his opinion on _everything_, particularly when contradictory to her own, his silence was vaguely worrisome.

The silence persisted, and Sarah began to fidget in spite of her bravado.

The King seemed content to wait for... whatever it was he was he was waiting for, while Sarah began mentally humming: _here comes the bog._

It was quite by his design that she was visibly startled when he finally deigned to speak.

"Sarah, Sarah. I wonder what it is you were hoping to achieve by way of your proposal."

"What?"

_Proposal?_ Apparently she had missed something along the way. Sarah was momentarily distracted when he absently fiddled with the magical ring of flowers. Her creation wasn't bad for a beginner, but she was a bit disappointed that he had managed to change the colors so easily. Still, he had not yet managed to get it off, which was a point of pride for-

"I accept, by the by."

"_What?_"

He stood directly in front of her now.

"Your proposal, precious, do keep up."

"I didn't make any damned proposal. What are you talking about?"

His uneven eyes lit and his mouth tipped up at the corners- he knew something that was about to make Sarah rather unhappy, no doubt.

"Out with it, Goblin King."

"Goblin King? Why the sudden formalities, love? That's not the name you were calling me nary three days ago, much less last night."

And then, he added insult to infuriating smirk and _batted his eyelashes at her_.

In an ideal world, Sarah would have kept her cool and tossed out a scathing remark implying how brief and unfulfilling the dream had been.

In reality, Sarah let loose an indignant squeal and launched herself at him.

She never hit her intended target, and was left to hang awkwardly in the air, still poised for battle.

"Let. Me. Down."

He circled her once- an intimidation tactic that lost a measure of its effect as the intended target was paying far more attention to kicking at air. He took his place in front of her once again.

"It is an old tradition, lost to the ages in your world, but well remembered here; born from a time long before rings were made of silver and gold."

Sarah stopped trying to get down. Of course he would choose _now_ to actually answer her questions.

"Roses, though now their meanings are trivialized into color categories, have always been associated with love. _Immortal love_."

_Oh, hell. _He couldn't be mean something like-

"In itself, quite telling, Sarah." He nodded to himself, fingering the crown of flowers again. "But even more telling is your choice to gift roses as a wreath- a symbol of fertility. And to place your favor upon my person yourself- I must say, that it rivals my own proposal to you from long ago."

Oh, hell, oh, hell, oh, hell, oh, hell.

"You can't be serious."

The irritating, wolfish grin either meant he had just pulled the most hilarious prank in their shared history of prank pulling, or it meant something she was currently unwilling to contemplate.

"It seems, my dear, that you still have a thing or two to learn about _permanence_."

He flicked off his wreath of roses, and it changed before her eyes into something more dainty, more feminine, and colorful- possibly including some violets, if she was not mistaken.

He _wouldn't_.

_He_ _would, s_he groaned.

And then, he _did_.

"I think I'll send you off for now. You may return when you're levelheaded enough to discuss our engagement. In the meantime, my only wish is that you enjoy my gift to you even more than I enjoyed it as the token you gave to me."

Sarah stumbled back, tumbling gracelessly onto her bed- she was indeed back above, sans the smug rat of a king.

Though she knew it would prove to be a fruitless endeavor, Sarah tried to pull the crown off. To her utter lack of surprise, it would not move at all.

Instead, an insidious voice started whispering sinful nothings in her ear. When she tried more frantically to remove his dubious gift, unseen hands joined the voice, _his_ voice, skittering temptingly toward places they ought not be skittering. The young woman abruptly ceased her efforts, and the magic of his _gift_ followed suit at a much more sluggishly reluctant pace.

Fine. She just wouldn't try to take the damned thing off. She could out-stubborn him any day. Her will was strong, her kingdom was- derailed the instant she glanced at the mirror and caught sight of the absolute _mess he made of her hair_.

"Oh, this means _war_."

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**A/N:** Erm. Sorry. Just a silly little thing and not the updates anyone was hoping for. I _am_ actually working on the next chapter for Of Nowhere and Neverwhen (and far less diligently on Something Unusual, Something Strange), I promise. I should probably get off tumblr more often. Flower crowns, of all things…


	2. And Permanent Things

**A/N**: I needed to finish _something_, so this is just a quick little addendum/folllow up to this as I _try_ to finish up the next chapter of ONaN. I'm working on it now... at least until I bonk my head against the keyboard.

* * *

Jareth jammed the ballpoint pen back in its lid, deliberated, and yanked it back out again. The thing was egregiously unrefined and lacked the smooth flow to which he was accustomed, but given the circumstances of his flight from the kingdom, he would have to make do with his beloved's less-than-refined instruments.

Sarah was not present in her hovel, perhaps in effort to forestall his wrath. His sweet thought herself clever in this, and he was gentlemanly enough to allow her to delude herself for a while longer. The king perused the finished missive to his lady love one final time.

_My Dearest Sarah,_

_I must say I am duly impressed with your grace and manner with respect to our upcoming nuptials, though it has become apparent that I was ill-advised in my rash willingness to believe your claims of utter sincerity. _

_First of all, I commend your newly developed skills in regard to the durability of permanent markings, though the juvenility of your message leaves something to be desired. Eloquence is cultured over the long centuries, and I have little doubt your breadth of vitriolic insults will expand accordingly over time. I hope you find my answer to your earlier plea satisfactory. You have no doubt already found yourself in possession the golden ring replacement for your betrothal wreath. Though I shall truly miss the charming style of your hair whilst wearing it and can only hope that you shall indulge me again with its presence on your crown soon. _

_The Horde is quite pleased with their new brand of pets, though in light of their penchant for defecation and the unholy squawking in their battles with the resident fowl over territory, I am far less enthused. _

_For introducing these pigeons into the fragile Labyrinth ecosystem I find myself compelled to provide you an extended tour of the Bog of Eternal Stench. It is truly ambient this time of year with the ginkgo in full bloom and the durian fruit just ripening. Furthermore, I trust you will endeavor to relocate the winged rats' with sincere gusto, lest they start breeding. _

_We shall speak at my earliest convenience, perhaps after the quelling of my temper. _

_Fondest Affection, _

_Your Sovereign King, Keeper of your Dreams, and Betrothed, Jareth_

"Perhaps a mandatory swim in the bog is a bit much."

It was then that he caught sight of himself in Sarah's conveniently placed floor mirror, once again taking in his new black-ink moustache, hand-drawn monocle, and the words, 'Jareth is a poo-poo head,' scribbled on his forehead.

_No, no the bog will not do at all. Inadequate. Mere child's play_. _Perhaps she should head the annual thousand league pilgrimage to the Sacred Bone of Whence? _Sending her on the extended Goblin Venture was a bit cruel, though given the severity of her crime and the lightning bolt covering the _other_ half of his face it did not seem overmuch.

The pilgrimage would likely end with her poisoning more of his subjects against him, however, and was not an ideal choice.

He made himself at home and pondered. Given that pondering was best done to a steady tempo, Jareth summoned one of his stolen scepters from the depths of Sarah's closet. In his magical pilfering, he also reclaimed a beloved, well missed shirt of his own.

Oh she protested, vociferously, when confronted with the depth of her affection him, and she may have not been fully conscious of what she was getting herself into in continuing her association with him. But misappropriation of his personal belongings- She might not have been truly conscious of the meaning behind her actions, but the intent was there. And in the end, it was the intent that mattered.

He was near sleep, considering the chemistry of magically enhanced Sharpie and how to avoid permanent scarring in its removal, or perhaps charming his queen apparent into undoing her mischief, when his thought process jumped back to the subject of adequate punishment.

_Permanence_.

The worst part about being the Goblin King was the monotony. However, to be fair, that had been alleviated as of late.

The best part about being the Goblin King was that his magic was potent enough that he need not be present in order to carry out his mischief.

Yes, his revised plan was just short of perfect. Threat of the bog could stay. Despite his intended's redoubled efforts in the longevity of her magical spells, the ink would fade to nothing given time and some firm prodding.

With a flourish, the pen and note reappeared from where he had left them in Sarah's boudoir. Un-capping the pen a final time, the king added one more line.

_Post Script: In my eternal generosity, I have given you yet another gift. I can only hope it does not take you overlong to find it._

* * *

Sarah found the note some hours later. At that point in the day, her options were to go home and face whatever booby-trap the Goblin King had set up in her apartment, or rent a hotel for the night. The idea of putting off dealing with the fallout for another day was tempting, but she knew that said fallout would only get worse if left unattended.

When nothing immediately came charging or slithering out at her, Sarah thought that he must be lulling her into a false sense of security, which would in turn only make her more paranoid. When she found and read the note, this suspicion was confirmed. The woman turned her apartment upside down trying to find whatever the _gift_ was that he had left for her.

To her consternation, she found nothing.

That was, until she started going about changing clothes for her impending restless night's sleep.

She glared at the note again and found something had been added.

_Post-post script: By all means, take your time in finding it. Do not worry, it shall never fade._

"Oh."

It seemed obvious, now. Jareth_ always_ responded in kind to her efforts.

"Oh, crap on a cracker."

Sarah yanked off her top, and there it was, black and silver and glittering faintly on her lower back. She was mesmerized for a moment. Only a moment. She had probably gotten the better end of the deal because it was gorgeous and intricate, where her doodles on Jareht's face had been unflattering at best.

After poking at the markings for several further moments, Sarah finally remembered her righteous indignation and rallied forth Underground to potentially eviscerate a certain king over her brand new tattoo that quite literally had his name on it.

* * *

**A/N:** And they all lived warringly affectionate ever after!

But yeah, no, that's it for this, I swear. Except maybe a quick scribble of Sarah doodling on Jareth's face. We'll see.


End file.
